


Slip Up

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They try hard not to be seen, but sometimes it's not easy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The decision to keep this whole thing secret is a tacit and mutual one; neither of them says anything about it but they withdraw hands and gazes as soon as Liu opens the locker room door and by the time Himuro shuts it they’re separated and waving casually like the friends they’re simply supposed to be. And even though it’s so simple, a few whispered words and short touches and one kiss that Himuro has to pull Liu down for, it’s complicated everything in ways that Himuro’s thought through before when he can’t sleep at night, tracing the pathways in his mind before deciding they’re all too risky because what if Liu doesn’t want him or only wants to show him off and what if it doesn’t work and what if the school steps in and a thousand other what-ifs and maybes that all lead to dead ends (and that’s why he hasn’t kissed Liu before now, wouldn’t have tried anything if Liu hadn’t let the tangle of his feelings fall from his lips and ensnare Himuro despite himself). It’s unsure, unstable, a rattling spinning top but Himuro decides to hope the moment it falls is farther down the line than he can see right now.

They begin to take their time in the locker room after games; when some first year asks Himuro he shrugs and says it’s just administrative stuff (as captain and vice-captain they don’t really have that much of it, but it’s not as if that guy would know better) but for the most part people don’t notice because they’re too wrapped up in themselves, too busy trying not to get their hair wet in the showers because it’s winter and if they’re not careful and it stay’s wet it’ll freeze and anything that makes it potentially even colder for the long walk back to the dorms is a no-go. Himuro begins to get used to the feeling of Liu’s warm, wet arms on his bare back and the smell of the soap he uses, spicy (ginger maybe) but soft around the edges, a little bit like the way Liu is in general. He drinks in the view like a camel at an oasis of Liu getting dressed, the way he buttons his shirt wrong and swears before redoing it and the way his legs fold up like switchblades when he sits down on the bench to tie his shoe, and it’s only sometimes that Liu notices and his cheeks flare the color of the inside of a ripe strawberry.

They walk back together on those nights, close but not close enough for the heat of each other’s bodies to warm them through the many layers of dense fabric. Once Liu kisses him in the shadows of one of the arches near the chapel, outdoor lights reflecting off the stained glass and snow all around them, and Himuro fists his gloved hands in Liu’s coat, standing on the step above him, toes making the snow sink down under them but keeping his balance somehow. And that’s the first night he ends up in Liu’s bed and stays there until they’re almost late for breakfast.

They still have to be careful, though; they can’t lose sight of the way this shoddy bunch of lies could crumble to dust in moments if they say the wrong thing, look the wrong way, and it’s all too easy to be lulled into contentment and carelessness. They’re especially loose after finishing each round of very careful sex, voices stifled with bites on each other’s shoulders and long hungry kisses—when it’s the middle of the day on a lazy, sunny Sunday Himuro doubts very much that anyone will be around to hear them or bother them or even assume that Liu is in his room.

Of course that’s not the case, and after the second knock at the door Liu pushes aside the covers and sits up. Himuro whines, tugging at his hand—it had been so nice to lazily kick at each other’s feet and snuggle under the numerous blankets in a cozy state of half-sleep. Liu squeezes his hand but detaches himself, grabbing a pair of sweatpants form the floor. Himuro sighs as Liu’s bare legs disappear from view, and then closes his eyes, wrapping more blankets around him (Liu can try to steal them back if he wants, but it’s his fault for getting up).

He hears Liu’s feet creaking on the floorboards, and then the sound of the door opening.

“What do you want?”

“Is Muro-chin here?”

“What do you want him for?” Liu says, ducking the question very badly.

“Why is he in your bed?”

Well, shit. Liu’s a terrible liar and Atsushi’s a smart kid and there’s no way this can’t go wrong, no possible way.

“He got locked out of his own room and wanted to take a nap. Since I’m just studying, it’s fine.”

“But I just talked to his roommate.”

“He must not have been there before. Anyway, keep your voice down; he’s sleeping.”

Atsushi’s probably frowning right now, trying to decipher what seems off about the extra edge in Liu’s voice, how hurried his tone is—and then Himuro hears the familiar click in the back of Atsushi’s throat.

“Tell him I want to talk to him.”

He hears the shuffle of (presumably) Atsushi’s feet, and then the creak of the hinges and click of the lock. He’s about to open his eyes but then he feels the mattress shift under Liu’s familiar weight and then the tug as Liu pulls some of the covers back over. The way they’re positioned it’s easy for him to just grab Himuro and spoon him, so he does, cool arms welcome against Himuro’s bare stomach and his face buried in Himuro’s neck.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Himuro murmurs.

“It worked,” Liu says, kicking the back of Himuro’s ankle.

Himuro smiles and they say no more, drifting off further into the seas of sleep, breathing steady and Liu tightly wrapped around him. No one else comes to interrupt them that afternoon.

By the time Himuro finds him the next morning, Atsushi’s forgotten what it is he wanted to talk about but he offers Himuro a lollipop anyway (it’s his least favorite flavor but Himuro decides to take it as a nice gesture). It makes him late for class, though; they have science first and their teacher has already pulled up a nature documentary on the projector screen, and doesn’t even glance at the late pass Himuro puts on her desk.

Not for the first time he’s grateful his seat is in the back next to Liu; he glances at Liu’s tidy notes and then pokes him. Liu glares back and continues to write. They’re not going to get tested on this shit and even if they are, it’ll only be one or two questions (and even then Liu’s excellent grades so far are more than enough to make up for it). Himuro pokes him again, leaving his hand on the side of Liu’s desk. Liu puts down the pen and glances around—and then he takes Himuro’s hand in his, brushes his thumb over the inside of Himuro’s wrist. Himuro almost flinches; it’s so not subtle (but Liu doesn’t really do subtle in the first place) and someone might see; in his quick glance Liu might not have seen everyone or someone could turn around or the teacher could look up from her magazine or something. But nothing does happen; the narrator’s reedy voice carries through the classroom and the girl who sits right in front of Himuro nods off and he does not withdraw his hand from Liu’s grip.

“You know, Himuro-kun,” one of the girls says a few days later during break, “We have that history project coming up, and I still don’t have a partner. I was wondering if you....could maybe…work with me? That is, if you’re not already working with someone.”

“I asked someone a few days ago but he hasn’t gotten back to me. I can check if you’d like.” (This is a lie.)

She nods firmly; in some ways he doesn’t want to disappoint her but she still only wants him for his looks and they barely know each other. He’s not even sure of her first name, so even if this stings it’ll be like an antiseptic wipe on a small cut, easily forgotten as she moves on.

“Hey, Liu?” Himuro says, reaching over and tugging on his sweater. “You didn’t say whether you would or not…I mean…”

Liu looks vaguely confused. Himuro bites his lip; he still hasn’t let go of Liu’s sweater.

“Do you want to work on the history project together?”

Liu shrugs, flushing pink as he very obviously tries not to look down at Himuro’s hand on his sweater and ends up looking at Himuro’s face instead, which might leave him even worse off (and Himuro’s not above using his looks where he can, especially with Liu).

“I, um. Yeah.”

His fingers brush Himuro’s on the way down to his schoolbag, and that’s when Himuro finally removes them—not that the girl’s noticed; she’s busy moving on to other things and if Liu mutters something under his breath about totally cheating, hey. She’s not around to hear it and no one else is.

The weather gets steadily colder and they all wear steadily more layers even when walking back from practice; Atsushi’s shivering in his hat and earmuffs combination (Himuro thinks of suggesting a hood on top of that, but he’s not sure it would go over well) and if Himuro’s being honest with himself he’d rather have his hand in Liu’s coat pocket covered by Liu’s gloved hand than alone in his own pocket the way it is now.

“Hey, Liu,” says Atsushi.

“What?”

“Why are you wearing Muro-chin’s scarf?”

Himuro blinks. Liu’s ended up wearing that one Gucci scarf of his so many times already this winter and no one’s noticed before—Himuro has plenty of other scarves and the possessive part of him is very pleased to see Liu wearing something of his, even something small that only he had taken note of.

“That’s Liu’s scarf, Atsushi. I have one just like it.”

Atsushi blinks down at him. Liu is staring straight ahead; he’s still not sure how to handle the situation (but neither is Himuro, and he’s got no idea if what he’s done has been the right thing or not).

“Yeah,” says one of the other second years. “I’ve seen him wearing it before.”

Atsushi shrugs, breathing out a puff of condensation—but Himuro’s left wondering if this was meant to call them out, if this is Atsushi’s clumsy Atsushi way of saying he knows exactly what’s up (or at least that something’s up at all). But there’s no way to find out without spelling it out to him, so Himuro remains quiet and keeps his distance from Liu until Atsushi’s left the group to go to his own room.

They have to kiss goodbye in the doorway with the door still locked behind them so no one sees, quick and quiet, and Himuro wonders what would happen if the door spilled open behind him like an overburdened paper towel and people saw them, and then his stomach tightens because he wants this to himself; he wants Liu to himself and he wants this to stay theirs and theirs alone and he wants no one else in their business when they don’t have to be (and there’s no guarantee that this thing won’t take a nosedive on its own and fall flaming through the atmosphere and burn up like a meteor, and the fewer people that see that the easier it will be to pretend to forget). And even if this ship stays its course, there are too many reasons (too many people and things that might force them apart or try to), too many small special stolen moments, to even think of giving up in exchange for not having to worry about keeping this a secret anymore. And right now there’s not much Himuro would risk them for, so he stands on his tiptoes to give Liu one last kiss for now, just an abbreviated meeting of mouths before his heels are flat against the cool wood floor and his hand is on the tarnished doorknob and Liu is close enough to touch but Himuro can’t touch him anymore, so he turns and looks back, keeping his gaze up a few seconds longer than he should.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything goes to hell

Coach Araki always leaves new practice schedules in her office the day before the first of the month; half the time she won’t remind someone to go get them—mostly, she says, because the responsibility is on the players, especially the captain, to remember. Himuro would like to think that she probably forgets, not that it matters. Because when he and Liu do remember to do it themselves, they get a few minutes at the end of practice to themselves in the relative privacy behind the closed door of her office (they don’t do much there; even like this it’s too risky but they can still hold hands and whisper small things)—ostensibly looking for the schedules when they’re always easily found on the printer tray. Still, they’re not there today, and they end up wasting almost all of their allotted time looking for the stack of paper.

“Are they maybe up on a shelf?” Himuro says. “Liu, could you see?”

The logic of Coach putting things up higher than she can reach herself is faulty, but Himuro just wants to see Liu stretch right now—Liu doesn’t take the bait, though. He’s just in front of Himuro; it’s easy enough for him to catch Himuro’s hands in his. Himuro’s about to try and slip out of his grip because they really do need to find the schedules when Liu kisses him full-on.

Himuro pulls back quickly, backing away until he hits the edge of the desk. “The door’s not locked. Someone could come in; we’ve been gone a while.”

“I don’t care if people see,” Liu says. “I like you, so I don’t mind if people know it.”

Himuro bites his lip. That’s not the issue—is it? They’ve never really established why they’re keeping this a secret with each other; they’ve kept their own reasons to themselves but Himuro had assumed (naively, perhaps) that they’d been on close to the same page. And it’s not that he minds people knowing he likes Liu, it’s just—it’s complicated. He doesn’t want this whole thing to be physical, this whole relationship that they’ve been building up to turn out to be something where he’s shown off like a pretty prize. And he’s fairly certain that’s not what Liu’s going for—but what if it is? And even if it’s not, the best part about all this has been having Liu to himself, and he doesn’t want to trade that for anything. But maybe Liu doesn’t care so much about that, or even about Himuro.

“I’m sick of keeping this a secret,” says Liu.

“Are you saying it’s not worth it?”

The words escape his mouth like heat from an open oven door, impossible to prevent or stuff back in at this point but now that it’s out it’s making it harder to breathe. Liu stares back at him, and Himuro doesn’t blink. They don’t speak; as the seconds pass Himuro begins to feel that maybe it was a good thing these words got out of him, maybe they needed to be said before he got too far in and too heavily invested in this relationship—maybe Liu doesn’t think it’s worth it. Maybe this is just a way for him to pass the time.

“What?” Liu finally says.

“Are you saying that this relationship isn’t worth the effort?” Himuro says (he knows his voice is just barely not shaking, and he stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets).

“What? No, Himuro—”

“No,” says Himuro. “It’s fine. I understand if that’s how you feel. I—you’re right.”

He turns (it’s easier if he doesn’t look) and stalks out of the office empty-handed. Liu can find the damn clipboard himself; practice schedules are the least of Himuro’s immediate concerns. He just wants to get out of there before it starts to feel even more as if he’s going to suffocate or cry or yell or hit something.

“Hey, wait—” Liu starts, but Himuro’s already out the door before he can finish the sentence because he knows if he stays any longer he might listen.

He’s already regretting not staying and listening that night when he can’t fall asleep, tossing and turning in his bed. It’s too cold; it’s too lonely; it’s too big—there’s something about falling asleep in Liu’s bed between him and the wall, warm and comfortable and close to contentment, that is clearly absent here, especially now. And it’s not just being with someone he misses; he’s already dreading not being with Liu, not being able to lace his fingers through Liu’s and not being enveloped in those warm arms and not hearing that voice oh-so-close to his ear, tangy and sharp like the words he speaks. He’d spoken rashly; he’d been frantic and anxious and said things that he really didn’t think were true—not that it’s any excuse. It’s happened so much he should know by now how not to do it; he can’t keep using it as a fallback. And Liu probably hates him by now; even if he hadn’t necessarily thought their relationship wasn’t worth it then there’s no way he doesn’t now, not with how Himuro had so suddenly, inexplicably fucked things up. He feels choked up, like he’s going to sob—he reminds himself that his roommate’s a light sleeper but that does no good for his shaking shoulders or his sore throat or the awful feeling weighing him down.

Morning practice feels like shit, and not just because he hasn’t slept. He avoids Liu’s gaze and hides behind Atsushi’s sullenness, sequestering himself off. Atsushi won’t ask questions even if he notices something, at least not right away, and Himuro just can’t deal with any of that right now. He can feel Liu looking at him, and steals a glance or two—he doesn’t look great, but he doesn’t look like he’s been hit by a bullet train either. And so maybe he’s thought this through like a rational human being and decided that he wants no part of this, that it was all for the best. And so Himuro tries his best to look away, through practice and breakfast and school and into the next day.

He forgets all about the history project, about his topic and his partner and that it exists in the first place. It’s a casualty of hours and days of trying very hard not to think about Liu and when he inevitably does his mind settles on the things he misses, the snark mixed with bluffing gullibility in his words and the way he’d hold Himuro when they’d been out late screwing around in the snow, the way they’d tumble into a drift and come up laughing. His chest hurts from thinking about it and his jaw hurts because he’s clenching it all the time and he barely catches the history teacher’s instructions for everyone to work with their partners and discuss their presentations.

Most of the class looks excited, and it’s basically a free period as long as they keep relatively quiet considering how the teacher’s already gotten out papers to grade. Students are pushing their desks together and the low murmur of academically-tinged gossip fills the air like the sound of birds in late spring here. Himuro’s been avoiding Liu all week, so he really can’t say he’s too excited. Liu’s tilted his desk a bit, but Himuro refuses to catch his eye, pulling out his history textbook and placing it on his desk.

“If I work on context, you can design the poster?”

“Okay,” says Liu.

His hand is at the side of his desk, only inches away from Himuro’s and in plain view even when Himuro’s trying to focus on the words in the pages. His fingers are curled into a loose fist, spiraling like a seashell, long and smooth and so soft but out of reach, taunting Himuro in the corner of his vision. This might just be the most excruciating class period of his life; the sound of Liu breathing beside him magnified and his every twitch and small movement, his pencil across the page, echo in Himuro’s ears like shouts off of canyon walls and he reads the same paragraph over and over again but none of the words seem to register in his mind because they’re drowned out by Liu’s presence. And even though they don’t exchange another word, it’s louder than anything Himuro hears all day.

His bed is still too empty, his bedroom still stifling even with his window open—he’s too anxious to sleep, twisting his fingers in the chain around his neck and pulling, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to feel it dig into his skin. What’s it going to take for him to just fucking get over it? It’s been more than a week and he still feels like shit; he still has trouble sleeping. Every time he sees Liu it feels like he’s just been hit over the head with a pipe. Basketball practice is even more exhausting than usual, and he’s stayed late afterward to shoot extra twice in the last three days not just because he needs it (and it feels as if his game is getting rocked from all his internal turmoil and he can’t properly focus with Liu so close to him and this has got to fix itself by the next game) but because it’s easier if he doesn’t run into Liu in the locker room or have to walk back with him.

He finally falls asleep in an awkward position with a heavy frown on his face.

The words from the bible burn in his ears; he can’t quite tune out the few Latin phrases he knows about forgiveness and redemption and, well. He can’t blame Liu for not forgiving him (and doesn’t) when he can’t forgive himself. And this started out as his stupid little insecurities poking at him, choosing one of the few really good things he’d had going for him as a target and feasting on it—which sounds like another way of laying the blame aside, but it’s not. They’re his insecurities; it’s his fault he can’t control them or rein them in or get rid of them. His fingers crumple the corner of the thin page in his bible; it’s louder than he’d intended and Liu, sitting next to him in the pew, turns sharply to look at it. Himuro stares straight ahead at the priest.

Coach Araki catches him before practice, a quick tap with the hilt of her sword between his shoulder blades.

“Can you come into my office for a bit?”

Himuro bites his lip—this can’t be about his duties, can it? Despite barely talking to Liu he’s been amending the practice schedules and leading drills as a vice captain should, following the general tone of practice and the precedents they set earlier in the year. Alternatively, it’s about how shitty he’s looked in practice, how his shots have rung dully off the rim more often than usual and his passes are a little bit inconsistent, how he’s been taking careless fouls. She shuts the door behind her and then turns to face him, frowning.

“Is everything all right?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been looking tired lately. Are you okay? If you’re sick, you need to go to the infirmary.”

Himuro shakes his head. “I’m a little bit under the weather, but I’ve had a lot of schoolwork piling up. I’m sorry; I should have been proactive with it.”

Coach furrows her brow, pausing before she replies. “If you’re sure. Just take it easy in practice, okay? Don’t overdo it.”

Himuro takes this as his cue to leave. He nods, and walks to the door, pausing when Coach Araki speaks again.

“If you need to talk, Himuro, my door’s always open.”

Well, fuck. He can’t afford to be this obvious about it; he can’t afford to drag his emotions through the crowd when this kind of thing was what he was trying to avoid in the first place. If he can’t get out with his dignity intact, then what can he get out with? It fucking hurts, but he’s got to be an adult about this and just move on. And so he clenches his jaw again and takes a shot; this time it bounces off the backboard and in and while it’s not good enough he knows where he’s starting and where he’s got to be. So he stays late again, until he’s drained ten in a row flawlessly—it’s longer than he’d anticipated but tonight it helps him fall asleep.

He’s studying alone in his room when he hears a knock at the door; the history project is due in a week and regardless of his and Liu’s minimal communication if they know their stuff by the time they present they ought to get a fairly decent grade. But at any rate he could use a break, and it’s probably Atsushi looking for a snack or a quick conversation or something that will suffice to split up the monotony of memorization a little bit.

When he opens the door, Liu’s on the other side; he’s shifting his weight from side to side but looking straight into Himuro’s face. He doesn’t look too good; there are dark circles under his eyes and he’s missed a spot shaving and Himuro knows his body language well enough to see the stress in the way his hand is pushed deep into his pocket and his half-slouched posture.

“Can we talk?”

Himuro nods, stepping aside to let him pass—they haven’t been in such close proximity for so long, and he can already feel the warmth of Liu’s skin through his thin t-shirt and he is absolutely pathetic for thinking about this when Liu’s probably about to just tell him to cut out the bullshit. Liu sits down on the edge of Himuro’s bed, hands clenched in the fabric of his sheets. Himuro shuts the door and stands leaning on the frame. Liu takes a shaky breath, and then looks right at Himuro again.

“I’m sorry.”

Himuro very much wants to look away, but he holds Liu’s gaze.

“I’m sorry I said those things. I’m sorry things have been so difficult. I miss you.”

Himuro blinks, slowly digesting it. He seems sincere—Liu rarely isn’t, but still. The way he’s been looking at Himuro ever since their fight has made things obvious; when they’re this close it’s obvious he looks every bit as awful as Himuro feels. But he shouldn’t have to be sorry; this breakpoint was a long time coming and Himuro has handled it more than badly and he’s been regretting it every day since then while continuing to avoid Liu and prolong this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, biting his lip. “I’ve been avoiding you all week, and…I hurt you. I shouldn’t have.”

“Do you—I mean,” says Liu, and then he reaches for Himuro’s hand.

And Himuro can’t stop himself from letting him take it, from almost leaning into the rush from finally touching him again, from the feeling of those fingertips on his palm. Liu’s hand is cool and his touch is gentle and Himuro almost feels like crying. He’s fucked this up and Liu is okay with talking to him, apologizing to him, touching him.

“Do you want to give this another try?”

Himuro’s throat closes. Liu’s trying his best to look him in the eye, and Himuro squeezes his hand. Another chance is more than he could have hoped for (but he’d hoped for it all the same all along) but who’s to say he won’t fuck this one up, too? What if this time it goes beyond repair, and the team goes to shit? Liu squeezes his hand back, but doesn’t make a move to come any closer just yet and a wave of gratitude washes over Himuro. He does want to give this another try, oh so very badly—he wants Liu; he wants reconciliation; he doesn’t want to keep fighting.

“Would we be telling anyone?”

Liu inclines his head. “I’d like to tell the team at least. But we don’t have to be showy or anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Of course, if they tell the team rumors will spread as they do, and people will tell other people—but that’s fine; being discreet is more than fine. And there are times when he’d like to be showy; there were times before their fight when one of the girls in class would be flirting with Liu or when they were out on a sort-of date and Himuro couldn’t stake his claim on Liu and wanted to more than a little, especially when the waitress was flirting with him. And there were times when girls in their class flirted with him that Himuro felt Liu’s fingertips on the small of his back and it’s given him more than a bit of a thrill but he’d also kind of wanted Liu to do more, to put an arm around his waist and pull him closer or to kiss him, regardless of the consequences. Himuro nods.

“Okay.”

And then Liu’s pulling Himuro into his arms again and it feels so damn good, like things really might be okay. He’s missed this, the smell of Liu’s fruity shampoo and the contours of his body, how much bigger Liu actually is than he is and how safe it feels. And maybe it won’t be okay; maybe this will fall apart tomorrow—but Himuro’s going to hold on while he can, while he still has this chance.

He wakes the next day to relative silence; their breathing is quiet and anything from outside Liu’s open window is muffled by the falling snow. And Liu’s still here, arms wrapped around his waist and heartbeat steady against Himuro’s back and everything is calm. It’s cold under the thin blanket (although it had been more than warm enough last night); Himuro inches back against Liu’s warm body. Liu gives a half-sigh and hugs him closer, murmuring something completely incoherent in his sleep. The ache in Himuro’s chest has subsided to somewhere near normal, and it still doesn’t feel like everything’s going to crash down on top of them. They still have a lot of work to do; there’s still a long way to go. But for now he nestles himself deeper into his boyfriend’s warm arms and closes his eyes again. And damn, has he missed this feeling.


End file.
